Aiyta's Challenge
by Aiyta
Summary: Oneshots by request - see Chapter 1 for details. LATEST STORY: Hate for anonymous
1. The Challenge

**Dear everybody,**

So, this here is my writing challenge for myself. I have a 'bad' (not so bad, really) habit of only writing when it all comes gushing out and I also often neglect to write about non-Helga/Arnold things. I am pretty terrible at the notion of writing for prompts/requests, and I'd like to work on improving that!

Basically, all you need to do is 'review' this with the names of two characters and a prompt word (eg. Phoebe Helga Pancakes) of your choice and I will do my best to write a story with it.

My advance apologies if Helga/Arnold fluff seeps into a _huge_ chunk of these stories, but, I am an obsessed woman! Plus, non-Helga/Arnold hurts my soul... (it's OK you can still request other stuff, I'll just cry on my keyboard whilst I post it ;) ..)

Thanks everybody for your support with this!

**_Aiyta xx_**


	2. TJMFirst Kiss

**TJM/First Kiss for Ms Frosty & Grey LM  
**_Arnold x Helga x TJM Kiss  
Arnold x Helga x Arnold kisses Helga for the first time_

A/N: So, since TJM _is_ the first time Arnold kisses Helga, I decided I'd morph these requests together (and don't worry _Grey LM_ I'll be doing the other suggestions you had also)

* * *

Helga _would_ have liked to scream in absolute joy, even to spin around in circles with a hand clutched to her heart, and she might have if not for two very important reasons. One being that she was currently held in a tight embrace and the second being that there was another pair of lips firmly pressed against her own. Instead, she had settled for gripping to the soft, but muddy, fabric of a red plaid shirt and letting out a muffled squeak. Upon the sound of her reaction hitting her ears, she was surprised to realise this was _real _and despite her hazy thought patterns, she finally managed to kiss back.

She had heard, that in situations like these, one should see fireworks, but she was certainly _not_ seeing any fireworks. There was nuclear warfare, army tanks and aeroplane raids, but no _wussy_ light displays. If the explosions she was experiencing internally had been real, there would simply be _no_ survivors, the world would be doomed. And, maybe she _was_ doomed, because she was shaking... a lot.

Arnold's eyes snapped open the moment Helga's lips began to move against his, and she briefly worried if it might be time to step back and claim heat of the moment, but his arms gripped tighter at her dress and pulled her closer toward his body.

Oxygen was becoming scarce, but it didn't bother either participant, if they were to run out of breath, they would certainly die happy.

Gerald winced in displeasure as the sticky feeling of a spider web clung to the tips of his fingers. Shaking his hand violently, and brushing it past his torn-up jeans a few times, he continued on in his one-man-mission to locate his best friend.

Apparently, nobody else had been quite as concerned as he as over Arnold's disappearance into the depths of the San Lorenzo jungle with the likes of Helga G. Pataki. She had been exchanging strange looks with Arnold ever since they set off into the very dense and uncomfortably humid landscape, and Gerald could have sworn she'd been plotting his murder, or at least something similar.

Spying two sets of golden blonde hair through a patch of rough foliage, and a few dozen prickly looking bushes, Gerald pushed on ahead quickly, keen to assist in his friends rescue. And, to drag him back to camp for lunch, which was also very important.

"Arnold, we gotta get back t-" was as far as Gerald managed to proceed with his intended sentence, because once he had crashed through the leaves and hopped through the spiky plants, he stumbled across the strangest thing he had ever witnessed.

Arnold was kissing Helga! Or, possibly, Helga was kissing Arnold? Gerald couldn't be entirely certain, perhaps they were both kissing each other. Overall, one thing was undeniably certain, their lips were touching and nobody was dead. He couldn't decide if this disturbed him more or less than discovering Arnold's murdered corpse.

"Gerald!" Arnold cried out in surprise, flying backward, away from Helga and subsequently slamming his back into the trunk of a nearby tree.

Helga, who at this point was could absolutely not account for her conscious mind, simply tilted her head in a dazed fashion and stared in Gerald's general direction blankly.

Gerald faltered, absolutely baffled as to how to even _attempt_ approaching this situation, "Uhh..." he blinked, waiting for either Arnold to begin making excuses, or for Helga to become violent, and reduce his organs to compost.

Honestly, he was surprised to find that Helga's fists remained limply at her sides, and that Arnold's lame excuses were the first occurrence. "We were just... getting some firewood... for camp..." Arnold explained weakly, brushing the back of his neck with his hand, his cheeks the brightest shade of crimson, "... for the fire!"

At first, he hadn't even realised he was moving, but once a sharp spine made contact with his left leg, Gerald noted that he was unconsciously retreating back the way he had come. "Whatever you say man." he said grimly, desperate not to discuss the situation any further, "Whatever you say."

Arnold apparently had no intention of letting the subject drop, in fact he seemed willing to dig himself deeper into the terrible excuse he had created, rather than accept Gerald's casual dismissal. "It's true!" he insisted, turning toward Helga, who was still standing motionless and didn't even appear to be breathing properly, "Right, Helga?"

Helga, to her absolute credit, noted that some sort of approval was required on her part in this conversation, whatever it may have been about, and managed to murmur a, "Yes. Yes, Gerald." even if it was almost incoherent. One positive thing, however, was that it did at least prove she was still retaining and expelling air like a functioning human being.

Stopping dead in his tracks, Gerald stared wide-eyed at the now-statue of their former pig-tailed classmate, and waved a hand in her direction. "Arnold, what is wrong with her?"

"What!" Arnold panicked, jumping slighting before gazing in Helga's direction. Initially, his stare was curious, if not a little worried, but after a moment his pupil's dilated a little and all he could offer Gerald was an, "Uhh..."

"She just said my first name..." Gerald continued, hand still waving, legs still prickled with jungle bushes, mind still racing, "My _birth-given full name_... pronounced correctly!"

Helga nodded at this, Gerald was still speaking and she felt it might be good to encourage this, "Okay, Gerald." she reassured him dreamily.

Gerald tried pinching himself first, but it hurt like real life, and he was still feeling the itch of the plants beneath him, so this was undoubtedly _happening_, "What on earth have you _done_ to Helga G. Pataki?". Hilarious, honestly, because he knew _exactly_ what Arnold had done, and now he really just wanted him to admit it.

"Nothing." Arnold insisted immediately, moving to grab Helga's hand, which only served to make her stumble sideways a little and drop her eyes, "Let's go." and he marched forward through the small path toward the campsite, not bothering to look back to ensure Gerald was following.

Helga sighed, loudly, "Trees are _so _pretty." she noted lazily, her head tipping up slightly to eye the tall branches and leafy ferns surrounding the track, "Like deep green fountains of nature..."

Gerald cleared his throat, "Does she have a fever?" he ventured, raising an eyebrow at his best friend.

Arnold turned slightly, glared at him, and proceeded to pick up the pace, "Keep moving, Gerald." he instructed.

Continue moving he did, well, until a few moments later when curiosity grabbed hold and he could no longer deny himself the opportunity, "Hey Helga..." he said hopefully, "What do you think of my hair."

Helga spun to face him, her entire head jerking up and down as she surveyed the hair in question, which made her feel light-headed and _floaty,_ "It's nice." she hummed with a grin, "_Very_ tall."

"Oh man!" Gerald exclaimed, increasing his steps to walk closer behind them, closer to Helga who was still attempting to walk semi-backward as she stared up at his hair.

Arnold frowned and turned Helga back around, clasping a hand across her mouth which further complicated his task when her knees buckled entirely beneath her and she almost melted into the ground. "Helga, stop talking..." he practically pleaded, "We're at camp... okay?"

"Camp?" she hummed dazedly in response, although it was almost entirely muffled by Arnold's hand.

Across the camp, Phoebe's eyes lit up upon spotting Helga and, wiping the precipitation from her blue frames, she raced forward. "Oh, there you are Helga." she noted with relief as she approached the trio.

"The girl has lost her marbles." Gerald informed her immediately, jerking his head in the direction of the drunkest looking ten year old to have ever walked the jungle, "She's gone completely nuts!"

Phoebe seemed skeptical initially, shooting Gerald an unamused look at his unflattering description of her best friend. She retained said unappreciative look until Helga opened her mouth to speak again.

"Oh, my dearest Phoebe!" she murmured blissfully, literally reaching for Phoebe with grabbing motions from the restraints of Arnold's arms, "My very best friend! How I cherish you, my smart and sensible sidekick!"

Recognition flashed in Phoebe's eyes, much like it had earlier with Arnold, and she immediately appeared a little panicked, gasping an "Oh, no!"

Helga, was undeterred by the spreading concern, she was still in a land of warm kisses and world-wide nuclear combat, and so she was rather inclined to continue elaborating on Phoebe's wonderful qualities. "How I-"

The resounding impact of Phoebe's slap, administered directly to Helga's face, caused the entire campsite, filled with fifth grade classmates, caregivers and Arnold's newly-rescued parents, to stop their activities and redirect their attention to the four children standing just off the dirt track.

"OUCH PHEEBS!" was the first, very loud, complaint to escape the mouth of a far more grounded, and reality conscious, Helga, "Oh brother... how long was I out?" came the next, less harsh, and distinctly more understanding, response.

Phoebe shook her head with great concern, "Not sure, Helga." she reported, "Arnold and Gerald came w-"

"ARNOLD AND GERALD!" was shouted next, and several people were forced to place hands over their ears, after all, Helga Pataki's blood curdling screams were something one must acquire a tolerance to. Arnold, unsurprisingly, fared just fine. Helga herself... fainted.

"Mmmm mmmm mmmm..." Gerald hummed, once he had regained his bearings, and the ringing noise in his ears had dissipated to a feasible level, "That girl has issues."

"_Gerald." _Arnold warned sternly, as Phoebe knelt at Helga's side and began tapping lightly at her cheek.

Gerald grinned, "_Sorry_, Romeo."

"Stop that." Arnold insisted, pursing his lips and looking from Helga, to Gerald, and knowing very well he was not fooling his best friend, "Nothing was going on."

"Whatever you say Arnold, my man, whatever you say."

* * *

A/N: Urgh _sooo_... I've always hated the idea of doing the TJM kiss cause I never feel like I do it any justice. I don't love this at all.. but... I did my best and that's what this challenge is all about, so, yay? :/


	3. Hesitation

**Hesitation for KireiTsuki  
**_Brainy x Chal (KireiTsuki's OC) x Hesitation_

* * *

"I don't understand the hold up!"

Chaltiquel Shortman had a valid point, as usual, in that there was _definitely_ a hold up, always had been a hold up, too. Although, for the life of him, Brainy Bartlett had never been able to properly discern the reason for it, despite the fact that it was his fault...

"I... uhh..."

Hesitation was his strong suit, in a way, he'd made quite a life out of hanging back and loitering, both physically and emotionally and maybe now just didn't feel like a good time to stop. It never felt like a good time to step forward, as it were, Brainy was not one to take centre stage in life.

"Arnold's back, Helga's happy... I can't even _look_ in their direction without throwing up fluff. Everything is good!"

Helga was not the problem here, and it felt imperative to make that clear, nor was Arnold the concern either. Chal was correct, Arnold and Helga were blissfully in a world of their own after his recent return from San Lorenzo. Not that it had been a _simple_ process, of course, it had taken over a month of scheming and desperate pleading, before either would even entertain the idea of admitting they still loved each other. However, Brainy's father had once said that nothing worth having ever came easy, and having his two friends happy was worth having, so it was certainly worth it.

Explaining _why_ that was not the problem or _why_ that made him happy, especially to those who paid little attention to subtleties, had been a painstaking task. Choruses of '_but don't you like Helga, didn't you stalk Helga, didn't you want to marry Helga and have 500 children'_ were not so easy to contradict when you were not inclined to talk a whole lot, much less shout over other teenagers.

It didn't help that the situation was complicated, took a lot of time to explain, and honestly, had all happened _years_ ago and hardly seemed relevant any longer. Long story short, Brainy no longer loved, stalked, nor daydreamed about Helga and had not for an incredibly long time.

"I... yes..."

Chal bounced on the balls of her feet a little, wrapped a thick strand of bright green hair around her index finger and raised an eyebrow. Brainy knew she was thinking, hard... trying to process and interpret his thoughts from the minimal verbal communication he had provided. She'd get it eventually, and soon, because somehow he didn't ever _need_ to explain things to Chal, she just _got _him.

"Ah ha, and where does that leave us?"

Straight to the point, as always, and that was what he liked about her so much. Scratch that, it was what he _loved_ about her so much. But, he couldn't answer that question.

Brainy loved Chal, Chal loved Brainy, it all seemed to very easy but that was entirely the problem. Chaltiquel was a _princess_, and not even in a dreamy romantic in-his-head kind of way, she was a real life _princess_. Princesses lived in castles and married Princes and lived fairytale lives. They did not, in any case he had heard of, date asthmatic British emigrants living in the United States.

"And I swear, if you say _anything_ about me being a Princess, I'll scream!"

He wheezed a little, maybe he _had_ overused that excuse during the past few years, but it was valid in all the ways she so vehemently denied it to be. Very valid. Nonetheless, he could think of _further_ reasons, anyhow. Predominantly, his next reasons were that that pretty, energetic, charismatic green-haired girls with big, beautiful emerald eyes did not date the guy who, until at least the age of ten, went entirely unnoticed by almost an entire classroom, daily.

"_Chal..._"

It wasn't an excuse, it wasn't a reason, it was just her name. He didn't feel articulating any of his remaining protests would make a difference anyhow, despite having compiled a list. After all, it all very much boiled down to a common theme, and that was simply the fact that the gorgeous Chaltiquel Shortman, princess of the Green Eyed People and best dancer he had _ever_ witnessed, was far too good for him.

"All you need to do is tell me to go away."

Brainy startled and looked up at her with wide eyes, her voice was soft and hesitant in a way he had _never_ heard before, and instead of twirling her hair loosely she was pulling at it a little. An uncertain Chal was a sight he had not once previously witnessed.

"If you don't _want_ to be with me, all you gotta do is say... I can handle i-"

Her lips tasted like fruit, maybe watermelon, and that alone was a surprise because in his daydreams, and he wouldn't deny there had been many, he hadn't considered that. It might have been the watermelon, or the fact that she was a _fantastic _kisser, but something in that moment made him wonder why he had even bothered hesitating in the first place.

He did not plan to hesitate again, as a general rule, especially in regards to his princess.

* * *

A/N: Sooo... here's to hoping I didn't screw up your OC? haha :)


	4. Family

**Family for yalale23  
**_Arnold x Helga x Family_

* * *

Helga Shortman peered from the front window of the Boarding House, her glare set upon a young boy with scruffy blonde hair standing on the sidewalk outside.

"I cannot believe I just got lectured by my own son!" she huffed as she watched the short boy, hair straying in all different directions as the wind whipped through it, climb aboard the school bus.

Behind her, Arnold Shortman hesitated for a moment before tugging at his wife's arm, encouraging her away from the window, and away from making evil eyes at their oldest child. "He _did_ make a good point." he admitted, as he lead her into the kitchen, "Hiding the building blocks from Dina wasn't exactly the 'right' thing to do..."

Helga glanced across the kitchen toward young Dina, more formally known as Geraldine Shortman, who was happily stacking her building blocks with no lingering resentment at her mother's 'unfair' hide and seek game. "I swear, two children and they're both _exactly_ like you." she sighed.

Arnold shook his head at her statement, and sat back down at the dining table, "Phil is a lot like me, I admit that..." he conceded, "but I think Dina takes after you more than you realize." and he smiled at the way she rolled her eyes in response. Reaching for his cutlery, he set about finishing off the blueberry pancakes he had been distracted from during Helga and Phillip's discussion about morals.

"Blue!" Dina cried out happily from across the room, waving the bright blue building block as high into their air as she could manage, ensuring her parents could both see. Helga smiled warmly at their daughter as she settled herself into the chair across the table from Arnold.

"Very good, sweetie." she encouraged proudly, her long fingers wrapping around the steaming mug of hot cocoa sitting on the kitchen table as she watched the sandy-haired toddler. "What other colours do you have?"

Dina blinked, and ceased waving the blue block around, instead letting it drop into her lap as she stared at the blocks in her possession, attempting to identify another shade of the rainbow. Arnold tilted his head slightly to watch his daughter for a moment, and startled when he suddenly heard a creaking noise above his head. Dropping his breakfast cutlery, Arnold's eyes drifted to the roof, where the creaking and bending noises were slowly increasing.

Helga raised an eyebrow at the sudden sounds, but after thinking it over for a moment, a small smirk made its way to her face and she realized it was time to step away from the table. Clutching her mug, she stood from her seat and wandered over toward Dina. "Step back from the table, Arnold." she suggested casually, nodding her head at his breakfast meal and motioning with her hands for him to vacate his current location.

Increasingly confused, Arnold was just about to inquire as to _why_ when a small chunk of his kitchen ceiling landed directly on top of his pancakes, and the creaking noises became _cracking and snapping_ noises. He hardly made it out of the way before a huge portion of the ceiling was plummeting to the floor. A pained "_umpf!_" was clearly heard as it reached the ground.

Grumbling under her breath, something about boys and carpet and spiders, a small girl with messy brown hair that had been scooped haphazardly into a ponytail, emerged from the rubble. Without so much as a word to anybody else in the room, nor even a sideways glance at them, she picked herself up from the floor and bolted for the front door.

Arnold immediately snapped his head toward his wife and child, ensuring they were both okay, and what he saw just served to confuse him further. Dina had stopped playing with her blocks entirely, and at first had seemed a little panicked, but once she caught sight of their unexpected visitor, she had squealed out "_Enna._" and begun smiling. Kneeling beside her, Helga was coolly sipping from her cup of cocoa and smirking a little, greatly fascinated by the unfolding events.

"I... who?" Arnold stuttered as their front door slammed closed, his hand gesturing in the general direction of the hallway, "_who_ was that...?"

"Sienna." Helga said simply as her fingers tapped against her mug, her amused expression indicating that she felt he should already _know_ who their surprise guest had been.

Arnold was not following, "Uh?"

His wife raised an eyebrow at him, "Sienna Hartford." she clarified further, getting to her feet and lazily kicking a chunk of their kitchen ceiling with her slipper-clad foot. "In our sons fourth grade class... madly in love with him..." and she took another slow sip of cocoa as she waited for his response.

"Who? _What_?" he gawked, staring at her blankly.

Helga rolled her eyes at him, "Phillip, our son, you remember him?" she teased with a cheeky grin.

Arnold glared at her, "Yes!" he huffed in response, trying to process this new found wealth of information, "I... What was she doing in our roof!?"

"_Oh_..." Helga responded, her deep blue eyes sparkling as she let out a little chuckle, "You remember the big canvas drawing Phil and his friends found in the alleyway by the house yesterday?"

Arnold bent to gather the ruined remains of his breakfast from the rubble of the kitchen floor, and took the plate to the sink, "Yes, I remember." he confirmed, "What's your point?"

His wife, who was particularly impressed by the depths of his football-headed denseness this morning, did not respond to the question. Across the room, Dina's blocks tumbled to the ground and she giggled to herself. Arnold turned to look at Helga expectantly, raising an eyebrow at the knowing look on her face.

"_Oh boy_." Arnold muttered once he had finally pieced together the only explanation that accounted for Helga's foresight, big canvas paintings and unexpected breakfast guests. Rubbing two fingers against his temples and sighing, he glanced apprehensively at his wife, "So she shows up at _seven am_ to get it back?"

Helga scoffed loudly, "Hah!" she waved dismissively with the hand not wrapped around her mug, "Please, she was probably here all night!"

Arnold groaned and stared up at the gaping hole in their ceiling, "I don't know _how_ my Grandparents used to deal with this." he teased the woman with the scolding hot cocoa, which was probably a poor idea.

In return, she scowled at him, and did seriously consider throwing the beverage on his shirt, before settling on giving him a panic attack instead. "I'm thinking of showing her how the lock on Phil's window comes loose..." she baited him causally, tracing the handle of the mug, "You know, if you juggle it a little to the left."

Arnold's jaw dropped, his face twisting into that genuinely horrified expression that Helga was proud to say she could, and did, _still_ conjure from him regularly. Patting him on the back with a sly smile, she wandered over to scoop up her adorable daughter, and left her husband in the kitchen to dwell on her words. She figured, give or take a few days, she'd let him worry about it for a good week or so, before confirming it was a joke.


	5. First Date

**First Date for GreyLM**

_Arnold x Helga x First Date_

* * *

It takes three thousand six hundred and fifty nine days after _the kiss_ for Arnold Shortman to take his girlfriend, Helga Pataki, on a date. Or, in other words, an entire decade (and she's not his girlfriend for long once he does).

At first (once they've touched back down in Hillwood, and Arnold has as thoroughly as possible become acquainted with his parents) his 'relationship' with Helga is tenuous. It takes them weeks to speak again, and months to broach the subject of _the kiss_. Not that he was attempting to avoid it, in any way, but for somebody who was usually so very good at articulating himself and encouraging verbal communications to solve issues – he _sucked_ at talking to Helga. Gerald teased him for it regularly, but Arnold countered that she was a force not easily reckoned with, and on that his best friend had to agree.

Nonetheless, after the passing of several months (and a long talk) they could officially label themselves as girlfriend and boyfriend. Arnold, due to his naturally chivalrous nature (and the _loud_ suggestions of both his grandfather and father) was well aware that this called for a date. It began as a simple notion, but somehow turned into the fight of his young life.

The very first time he asked, they were eleven years old, and it had been a week since their classmates had been clued in on their 'official' relationship. Not that anybody was surprised, actually, most people rolled their eyes and groaned that it was '_about time_'. Maybe, at least in hindsight, asking her to Slaussen's whilst at Gerald Field was not his finest idea. Everybody thought that sounded _terrific_ and off the _entire class_ went to get ice cream. He vowed to do it alone, next time.

'Next time' did not eventuate for months afterward, simply because they were _never _alone. Helga was very careful about that kind of thing, not speaking to him unless spoken to, and not hanging around until everybody else was. It would take him years (until he _finally_ received a letter from her whilst in San Lorenzo) to realise it was because she was terrified of overcrowding him.

Future attempts were foiled by various misfortunes, usually involving challenges that lead to fights and thus fights that lead to tears. Two birthdays passed, twelve and thirteen, and they might have been good opportunities if it weren't for the fact that Helga _hated_ her birthday and became very snappy. Snappy Helga was not a Helga to be trifled with, although Arnold did not learn that lesson as quickly as he should have. One anniversary passed, too (well, one where they weren't fighting) but Big Bob Pataki took it as his opportunity to interrogate Arnold on his 'intentions' and Helga spent the rest of the day arguing with her father about it.

He thought about it in the last few months before his departure to San Lorenzo. Firstly because he did feel particularly guilty that not once in over two years had he ever taken his girlfriend on a date and secondly because after he left, their relationship would be over. The idea filtered through his mind regularly, and the notion seemed to be a noble one, if not something romantic to say goodbye. When he asked her, she cried. It wasn't until he saw the tears run down her cheeks that he realised just how _painful_ the entire idea would make everything, and he felt absolutely horrible.

He never would remember just how fast he managed to make it from Hillwood Airport to the Pataki house, the day he returned from San Lorenzo four years later. Mostly, his memories begin from the moment a wide-eyed Helga (taller, blonder and still _absolutely gorgeous) _processed the words '_I love you_' that he blurted out the moment she opened the door, and the intensity of the kiss that followed. Somewhere in the speech he had planned (none of which eventuated) there was a sentence about taking her out on a date. However, when their fevered make-out session was interrupted by a phone call from his parents two hours later, Arnold could barely remember his own name, let alone the idea of _going_ somewhere.

His intentions one week later were honourable, he caught her as she dropped down from the skylight and his immediate mission was to ask her on a date. Half an hour later, and she was completely naked beneath him and things were far from honourable. She was not taking no for an answer, and he was... not all that difficult to convince. Later, much later, he mentioned his failed mission to her and she nuzzled her head against his chest and told him she '_preferred this, anyway_'.

Helga's '_preferences'_ became the sole cause of Arnold's failure to take her on a real, proper date from that point onward. Not that he had _any_ problem with the fact that his girlfriend was ridiculously insatiable.

It quickly became a predictable routine, each and every birthday and anniversary (because he didn't waste his breath attempting at any other time). Discussions were had, about going somewhere or doing something, and Helga would appear thoughtful about it. Once he arrived on her doorstep, however, it was a completely different situation. She would, very slowly, objectify him with her eyes and bite her lip, and dinner plans were null and void. Any reasonable question, _'don't you want to eat_' for example, was futile as it was bound to end in a mischievous smirk and a retort like, '_I want to eat you'_.

Years later, the night of their anniversary and one month before Helga's twenty first birthday, Arnold literally wondered if he might have to propose to her whilst naked. All his assumptions, being that sooner or later Helga's endless amorous desires might fade, had been so far debunked (again, he was really, seriously _not_ complaining). He had no delusions about his chances of getting her to a restaurant, so he set out to arrange a compromise.

Helga and Arnold's first date, and technically speaking their _only ever_ date from that day forward, was the day she turned twenty one. Helga sulked at first, something about being cock blocked on her birthday, but she was at least happy to discover she didn't need to _go_ anywhere. A candle-lit lounge room complete with rose petals and a picnic rug on the floor was the greatest solution he had managed to deduce. Helga insisted on curling up in his lap for the entirety of their evening, and she wouldn't even move so he could get down on one knee, but that didn't matter. After all, the moment she saw the box and heard the words _'Helga, I-'_ her hands were all over him and he never got to finish. No matter, he knew it was a yes.

* * *

A/N: Sooo... upping the rating on this little series here... I'm pretty sure some of the upcoming prompts are gonna get sexuallll (cause, really, you people, 'whipped cream'... 'spin the bottle'...'_water_fight'... 'STUDY DATE'... I cannot think clean thoughts under these conditions!)

I will put up warnings at the beginning of any stories that get in any way sexually descriptive, but, you've been warned kids.


	6. Boys Night In

**Boys Night In for Angeline Tucker  
**_Arnold + Gerald + Brainy_

* * *

Arnold paused in the doorway, a drink for his friends in either hand, and attempted to listen in on the hushed conversation in the lounge room.

Gerald was frowning, his face screwed up as though he'd tasted something horrible, and Brainy appeared to be laughing at the reaction. "I _swear_," Gerald grumbled lowly, "I had so much more faith in him!"

"I think... you should be ashamed." Brainy grinned, raising a finger to quiet Gerald when he attempted to speak up once more, "He's _your _best friend... after all."

Gerald's lips twitched and he sent a nasty glare in his close friend's general direction. Meanwhile, still hidden behind the wooden archway, Arnold wondered what they were discussing and what on _earth_ it had to do with him.

"He's supposed to be a bold kid!" Gerald protested, in a particularly harsh whisper.

Brainy let out a strained laugh, trying not to be too loud, and it came out highly reminiscent of that loud wheezing he used to do when they were all kids. "He's never... been bold when it came to girls..." Brainy chuckled, "and _then _we grew up and 'girls' became... 'young ladies' and he's never been more of a coward."

Gerald propped his feet on the coffee table and groaned, "Hundred dollars I'm set to lose because of him. _One hundred_. I don't even have that kinda cash, man." he whined. "I mean, I gave him until the end of high school, I figured he'd have done it by _now_."

"Phil knew he would win." Brainy smirked. Arnold shifted into view, eyebrow raised and drinks in hand, if this involved his _grandfather_ too, then he was hardly going to stand back.

"Win what?" he demanded to know once his two closest friends noted his presence in the room.

Gerald almost choked on his own tongue, "Win? Who said win? Win nothing! Nope, no bets."

Brainy stifled another laugh and Arnold crossed his arms, "What _bet_?"

Shaking his head defiantly, Gerald refused to provide an answer. Thankfully, Brainy was far more forthcoming, and handed over a worn and tatty piece of paper with faded pencilled words. "This bet." he said simply as he shoved it into Arnold's hand.

_I, Gerald Martin Johanssen, bet one hundred dollars that my best friend, Arnold Phillip Shortman, __**will**__ grow a pair and make a move on Helga G. (what the heck does that stand for, anyway?) Pataki before the end of high school._

_Signed: GMJohanssen_

_Witnessed: BrainyRB_

_I, Phillip "Steely Phil" Shortman, bet one hundred dollars that my grandson, Arnold Phillip Shortman, is a coward in denial and __**will not**__ kiss Miss Helga Geraldine ( you see, I know things boy, you're doomed) Pataki before the end of high school._

_Signed: SteelyPhil_

_Witnessed: BrainyRB_

It was now Arnold's turn to almost choke on his own tongue, he spluttered for a good few minutes, with his friends watching on in amusement, before he managed to talk again. "_WHAT_?"

"You have two days to earn me one hundred bucks." Gerald said simply.

Arnold stared at him with wide eyes, "I don't... Gerald, I don't like Helga... I... this is ridiculous... why would... why? I don't ... I..."

Brainy gazed at him sympathetically, "We know you don't." he reassured him with a conspiring look in Gerald's general direction, "It was just a joke."

Arnold relaxed a little, and sank into the nearest lounge chair, placing one glass on the table and sliding it in Brainy's direction and keeping the other for himself.

Gerald eyed Brainy curiously, before speaking up again, "Exactly man, just a joke... besides, it's not like you could complete it even if you wanted to." he said bluntly, "I guess my one hundred is as good as gone."

"What do you mean by _that_?" Arnold immediately shot back, placing his drink onto the coffee table and leaving it there to be forgotten.

Brainy shrugged, "Only that I heard Sid's pretty interested in Helga..."

"Probably going to ask her out tonight, I heard they were going to the movies... right Brain-man?" Gerald asked flippantly.

"Evil Twin, seven o'clock." he confirmed, before putting on a grave frown, "Although... Sid's not really the relationship type..."

Gerald grinned and nodded, "Yeah, probably just fuck her once and toss her to the side." he quipped, turning to face Arnold, "What do you think, Arnold?"

Arnold, who was creating shreds of fabric in the armchair side with the tight grip of his fingernails, did not answer. Gerald took this as opportunity to continue on, "Actually, it's around ten now, they're probably done with the movie... if you know what I mean."

"Right. Now." Brainy added sharply.

"And, to think, if you'd earned me my one hundred dollars sooner, she wouldn't be naked in Sid's bed right now." Gerald mocked sadly, although Arnold was completely missing the amusement in his tone.

Brainy eyed Arnold carefully, he looked poised to kill at any moment, so it was probably safe to go for the final blow. "Gerald, you forget... Arnold doesn't even like her. " he pushed smugly, "I'm sure she'd the _last_ person he'd ever consider-"

"OKAY FINE I LIKE HER, AND WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME SHE WAS GOING OUT WITH SID?" Arnold shouted, and in a faint whisper that could hardly be heard by either friend, he added, "If he touches her I'll fucking kill him."

Gerald promptly spat out his drink, because he had _never_ heard Arnold use the word 'fucking' in his _life_ and Brainy looked very pleased by their efforts. "Calm down, she's not with Sid." Brainy managed to assure Arnold before any dangerous weapons were produced.

"Yeah, but _oh my god_ you should have seen your face when I said that he was going t-" Gerald started, struggling between intense fits of laughter, but he was cut off by the sound of the front door.

Gerald caught his breath, and Brainy blinked, and together they realised Arnold was no longer with them, in the living room. The front door slam was their first clue as to where he may have gone.

"YES!" Gerald cried after a moment of stunned silence, "I'm about to be one hundred dollars richer!"

And, at that realisation, both young men hurried off to follow Arnold down the street... after all, Phil would never pay up without photographic evidence.


	7. Sexting

**Sexting for renegade-452**

_Arnold x Helga x Sexting_

**WARNING: **Sexual references; sexting, vibrators and implied sexual activities.

* * *

It started out with an ex-boyfriend, years ago, and it was purely a learning exercise. Helga writes books. Some of those books have sex scenes. Sexting was merely a way to pursue her written sexual creativity, a study in the finer points of typed seduction. But that was years ago, several boyfriends ago, and until recently the whole notion of trying to phone-fuck somebody was lost in the past.

She had _no idea_ how this had even started.

Nine year old Helga would have been dancing across her bedroom with joyous rapture. The whole dirty texting thing wouldn't have even bothered nine year old Helga in the slightest either, because nine year old Helga was _desperate_. But, _grown-up_ Helga had long ago abandoned the notion that being offered an umbrella in the rain equalled a lifelong love story.

She had been young, and starved of attention, that was all.

Once she had matured and moved on with her life, in all senses of the matter; boys, family, friends (excluding Pheebs), hobbies... it all seemed so pathetic. She'd effectively discovered love, of the grown and mature kind, required somewhat of an equitable contribution from either participant. She'd also learnt this neat trick with her tongue... but it was for special occasions. Most of all, when Arnold Shortman came to work for Cambridge Press (her publisher, of course) in New York, she learnt they were well-suited as friends.

She couldn't recall when the subject of her past sexting experiment came up, nor precisely when she obtained his phone number, but together the two made a bad pair.

It needed to stop. It needed to stop yesterday. It needed to stop weeks ago. Furthermore, it _should_ have stopped months ago. But, it didn't, and _good freakin' gosh_ it was good. Her sexting life was better than her real sex life had ever been, in regards to her personal satisfaction, and that was a depressing thought. She didn't like to dwell on the possibility that it wasn't the messages themselves but rather _who_ was sending them, but that only made it more depressing.

She was writing more... and she was writing better. Privately and professionally.

Still, it needed to stop happening. Nights spent with one hand clutching her phone and the other disappearing beneath the covers were not productive. Nights spent researching synonyms and metaphors for unspeakable things were also not productive (her vocabulary _was_ expanding, but not in a socially acceptable way). Not to mention this was the boy she had stalked obsessively for the majority of her young adolescent life, if ever there was a way to be tip toeing on unstable foundations, this was probably it.

She was going to stop.

She was going to stop whimpering helplessly in her very empty bed, she was going to stop checking her phone and she was going to stop entertaining the idea of buying a vibrator. _Really_.

And she was going to begin doing so right after answering her doorbell, which had just sounded...

"Arnold?"

No, change of plans, she was going to start panicking, because he was here on her doorstop and it was three o'clock in the morning. No, there was _no way_ he was making this whole thing into early morning booty calls. No way.

"Helga, this is ridiculous!"

"I don't... _uhhh_..." _Do not have sex with him. Do not have sex with him. Do not have sex with him._

"I mean, why are we doing this?"

"Doing... what?" _Try your very hardest not to have sex with him... Okay, maybe just try it once?_

"This! It's stupid, we've both liked each other for _so long_, why don't we just... date? Properly!"

_HELGA, HAVE SEX WITH- Hold up, what?_

"What! Who told you that! Wait... _we_ like each other? _We_?"

"Well, yeah... don't you?"

Okay, so maybe umbrellas in the rain _did_ equal a lifelong love story. Either that, or sexting did? All Helga knew was that it _did_ last a lifetime... and she never had to buy that vibrator...

* * *

A/N: I just... have no idea where this one came from. A romantic sexting story? Whaddaya know...


	8. Janitors Closet

**Janitors Closet for Kiely  
**_Helga x Arnold x Janitors Closet_

* * *

Arnold took a deep breath of air, still struggling to control his breathing properly in these situations. "I keep..." he panted, his gaze set on a pair of sparkling blue eyes, "meaning to... ask you... where you even learnt to kiss like that?"

Leaning against the closet wall, the tall blonde girl shot him a wicked smile, "Nowhere." she responded casually. Her teeth raked across her bottom lip for a split second, "It's just this effect you seem to have on me."

Arnold nodded dumbly, her words hardly processing, as he concluded that his breathing was steady enough to indulge in round two. Grasping her wrist, he pulled her in close once more and she released a slightly startled giggle as his lips found hers once more.

Helga sighed happily and let her weight go limp in Arnold's arms, her eyes fluttering closed on their own accord. Sometimes, it was nice to let go and forget that they were hiding this from everybody and-

"Incoming!" Helga gasped suddenly, pushing away from Arnold and flicking her eyes toward the Janitors Closet door. Thumping down the hallway were the heavy footsteps of a fast approaching intruder.

Cursing her own need for secrecy, Helga's mind grappled for a possible escape route, but she knew that beyond stacking up boxes and clambering through the air vents there simply was none. Besides, she hadn't crawled into an air vent since she was ten, and that was two years ago, she couldn't even be certain she'd still fit. Alas, escape was no option.

Arnold watched Helga carefully, as her eyes darted across the expanse of the closet and her brow wrinkled in deep thought. He didn't entirely understand why this was all supposed to be a secret, but he _did_ enjoy Helga in scheme-mode. It made her look so cute.

"What are you two doing in here?" Sid's voice filled the closet the moment the door flew open, his eyebrow raising at the unexpected occupancy.

Helga snapped her attention back to Arnold, and suddenly delivered a quick and weak, but hopefully convincing, punch directly to his stomach. Arnold jumped at the unexpected contact, which made him splutter a little – if nothing else, it was at least good for effect.

"Don't you ever push your goody-two-shoes advice on me ever again!" Helga exclaimed quickly, and Arnold noticed she was still doing that _thinking_ thing with her brow, which meant this was entirely improvised. "Or I'll... I'll beat you until you can't walk, you hear me?"

Helga's eyes darted quickly once more, as she attempted to decide her next course of action. Sid, meanwhile, shot Arnold an empathetic look and scurried to locate whatever it is he had come for. Apparently, that item was a mop, which he located swiftly by a supply cabinet and grasped in an awful hurry.

Scoffing loudly, and crossing her arms for emphasis, Helga turned to glare at Sid and promptly stomped her way out of the closet. Her footsteps echoed loudly down the hallway as the two seventh grade boys were left in the close in silence. Arnold slowly drifted his gaze in Sid's direction, unsure of what exactly to say in this current situation. After all, he'd always been a particularly horrible liar.

"Uhh, thanks for... saving me?" he managed to force out, rather insincerely, after a few tense seconds.

Sid peered down the corridor, in the direction Helga had departed in, "No problem, Arnold." he assured his friend. "Maybe you should avoid her for a while?" he suggested nervously, "She seemed pretty angry."

Arnold frowned and followed Sid out of the closet, shutting the door firmly behind him, "Yeah... good thinking, Sid." he said, "I'll, uh, try my best."


	9. Late Night Confession

**Late Night Confession for Daichilover  
**_Arnold x Helga x Late Night Confession_

* * *

"If all else fails, you could just jump her." Gerald Johanssen suggested casually to his best friend Arnold Shortman. Arnold, in return, shot him a painful glare and returned his attention back to the thick textbook open on the library table.

"I'm just saying, dude." Gerald continued on thoughtfully, sipping at his lukewarm takeaway coffee and staring of at the rows of bookshelves in the distance. "You have absolutely nothing to lose... except your patience if you insist on waiting any longer."

Arnold glanced up from the textbook again and sighed, he'd flipped to the section in Doctor Mandy Bliss' psychology text entitled _Social Defence Mechanisms_. He was probably not too wrong to suggest that the girl currently the topic of conversation had contributed as a case study to a large portion of what this particular chapter dealt with.

_That girl_, of course, being Helga Pataki.

If it weren't for the historical evidence outlined directly in his very own college textbook that said otherwise, Arnold might have gone as far as to suggest that Helga literally _invented_ displacement. Or, at the very least, the notion of projecting ones anger onto the person they loved.

_That person_, of course, being Arnold himself.

"I want _her_ to admit it." Arnold said firmly, and certainly not for the first time. Gerald groaned and sunk back into his chair in apparent defeat. No matter how much he complained about the situation, which was very often, Arnold knew Gerald understood the importance of Helga being the one to come clean. Gerald did have a fantastic point in regard to his patience, however, because despite how laid back he was – Arnold's patience was wearing painfully thin.

_Why?_ Because no matter what Helga herself thought- which was probably that Arnold would metaphorically stomp violently on her heart- he loved her _just as much_ as she loved him. No doubt about it.

"I just feel, like my life would be more... _peaceful_ if you sorted this out." Gerald suggested slyly, raising an eyebrow and tapping his fingers nonchalantly as possible against the wooden desktop. Arnold had to admit, the irritating pranks pulled on their dorm room and the seething early morning answering machine messages detailing his 'infuriating and brainless personality', _would_ probably cease if their deranged relationship was sorted out. Peace and quiet was certainly an appealing concept, seeing as he hadn't encountered much of it since the age of... oh, about... three.

Sometimes, especially when Gerald made comment on it, Arnold wondered _why, oh why_, he adored the girl who repeatedly made his life rather difficult. It did make sense, and he was sure he would be able to look it up in his textbook, that after a certain number of insults on the shape of his head, he'd begin to loathe her at least a little. But, that was hardly the case, and no amount of shoves in the canteen line during high school or disgusting emails from websites he had certainly not 'signed up for the newsletter' for during college, could change the way he felt.

He loved her and it wasn't ever going away, and he didn't mind at all.

Arnold sighed and flipped his heavy workbook closed, "I know." he all but groaned, after all, his patience was thread bare by now. "Why does she have to be so... so..."

"Nutty?" Gerald suggested quickly, with a playful smirk, "Insane? Psychopathic? Mad as a hatter? Completely bat-shit cr-"

"Frustrating." Arnold cut in sharply, "I was going to say _frustrating_."

Gerald took another long sip of coffee and, after gurgling it slightly, propped his elbows onto the table and stared at his best friend intensely. "_Because_, she thinks she needs to become president, save the world, and name a country in your honor before she's worthy of your attention." he deduced, scarily accurately for somebody who had never taken an interest in psychology. That said, he _had_ taken a forced interest in the subject of Helga G. Pataki, even if only for Arnold's sake. "Come on man, you know that."

"I don't care if she saves the entire universe and names a whole galaxy after me." Arnold informed him, for no real reason as Gerald was clearly already aware of such a fact. His best friend let out a snort at the concept of Helga doing such a thing, even though he was certain she would try if necessary. "I just... want her to _tell me_." Arnold concluded.

"I know that, but, does _she_ know that?" Gerald challenged accurately. And well, of course she didn't know, she was too busy _literally_ trying to become president, and possibly also looking out for universes to save, to notice anything of the sort. That and she was also far too busy insulting his wardrobe choices to see the way he looked at her, or too determined to set off loud alarms in his dorm to hear the way he spoke about her.

"No," Arnold responded, "but I'm not changing my stance on the issue."

Gerald gulped down the last of his drink and tossed the empty paper cup into a nearby trash can. "You're a _stubborn_ kid, Arnold." he said as he stood from his seat, "Well, I'd love to bother you about this some more, but it's quarter to midnight and I need my beauty sleep."

Arnold leaned back against his chair and cast his eyes over the now very empty library; they might have been the last people in here for the night. "I've got to grab a few more books." he said, tossing his _Psychology by Bliss_ text back into his bag, "I'll see you back at the dorm."

Gerald nodded, "Sure, catchya later." he said cheerfully as he made his way out of the historic building.

Being a building of considerable size, Arnold thought he might never forgive the staff for placing the lower digits of the Dewey Classification system down the _farthest_ end from the study tables and the entryway. However, tonight it proved a good chance to clear his thoughts a little. Gerald had been, rather effectively, heavily on his case during the past week or so in regard to Helga. He had no doubt his best friend could see the last of his restraint caving through and was loving the thrill of slowly destroying it. Arnold could hardly be mad that he was using the opportunity; he knew Gerald vehemently despised the loud answering machine abuse, and would do almost anything to be rid of it. Of course, bettering his best friend's life was probably a close second.

Arnold had made it only as far as section 821, or rather _English Poetry_, when a very familiar shade of sunshine blonde caught his eye and stopped him dead in his tracks. His breathing hitched for a brief second and his heart began to pump blood a little faster around his body. Amazing, it was, that he still managed to feel asthmatic for a good five minutes every time he caught sight of her. He wondered how _she_ must feel; all that aggressive, subconsciously affectionate, energy must almost bring on a heart attack each day.

It was probably redundant to note, and entirely biased, but Helga was _absolutely gorgeous_. Her teeth softly chewing on her lower lip as her bright blue eyes skimmed the pages of some huge poetry book. Shakespeare, probably, something Arnold knew for a fact she read more to analyse the writer himself than the subjects of his verse. She had always been incredibly curious; it was one of the many things he admired about her. Possibly not counting the times when her curiosity lead to unnecessary jealousy, because that often lead to his female friends strangely falling into traps.

Her forehead crinkled into a frown and her eyelashes fluttered a little, a sure sign that she had completed a particularly interesting poem and would now- _oh_, yep, she was looking up at him. "Football Head." she growled without missing a beat, "Get lost, would you?"

Arnold rolled his eyes, noticing that his reaction was also rather instantaneous. "Helga, this is a public space. I can stand where I like." They had this down to an art, really.

"Harassment, however, is a serious issue." she retorted with a glare, "Campus Security does not take it lightly."

"Good, I'll be sure to report your less than sociable behaviour to them." he shot back. _Mutually_ trading insults was a relatively new concept, coming about over the past year, and born entirely of Arnold's growing frustration. He never felt fantastic about it after the fact, but it was growing hard to curb the retorts during the heat of the moment. Heat of the moment, after all, had never been a particularly good time for either of them.

Helga narrowed her eyes at him and snapped her book shut. "I think you'll find, paste for brains, that _you_ are the one bothering _me_."

"Keats?" Arnold asked, ignoring her remark and instead focussing on the book clutched in her hands, "Usually it's Shakespeare."

"Wasn't in the mood." she grumbled lowly, squirming in her seat about something, possibly the fact that he had noticed her typical reading habits. Her eyes snapped back to his a moment later, the fire and determination having returned, "Since you're here, you could make yourself useful by getting that small red book from the top shelf..." she pointed to the general area with a flippant wave, "just over there."

Arnold nodded and moved for the book, spying the name down the spine and frowning as he flipped it over in his hands. "Keats, again?"

Helga's mouth twitched a little and she stood from the chair she had been curled up upon, "Yes, _this_ one does not have _Ode to a Nightingale_," she waved the thick book in her hands slightly, "and it happens to be my favourite. Not that it's any of _your_ business, Football Head."

"Alright, well I will leave you in peace-" he began.

"Good." Helga shot back without waiting for him to continue any further, her arm extending to snatch the book from his hands. Arnold, instead, moved backward and placed the book behind his back, shaking his head.

"I _will_ leave you in peace," he started again, shooting her a look that suggested she let him finish his thought this time, "once you tell me the right words to earn this book from me."

Arnold did not make a habit of playing mind games in general, he certainly had not engaged in them growing up, but Helga made the whole notion rather addictive. Besides, when he was indulging in 'competition', by fighting or otherwise, at least they were actually communicating. Despite the fact that it was in a strangely backward fashion.

Helga blinked as though she hadn't heard him correctly. He didn't often challenge her first, if at all, and she certainly wasn't accustomed to him holding items hostage. Honestly, he had no real plan, and no clear idea what _earning_ the book might realistically entail, but he could only hope it would end in finding out what her lips tasted like. Probably vanilla, it was a strong hunch.

Screw his patience, he wanted his girl.

"I do not need to _earn_ books from you." she almost hissed, "Hand it over, or else!"

Arnold raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly, maybe he should have done this earlier, she was incredibly cute when legitimately flustered. "Or else what?" he challenged, and when her face, and fist, dropped slightly in panic he pressed on. "See? Play the game."

"Oh, so this is a game?" she grumbled as unhappily as she could manage, "Great, just what I need, a late night game with Football Head."

Ignoring her false disappointment, he elaborated on the newly forming 'rules' of his book ransom game. "One phrase. Three words. And then the book is all yours."

It came as a slight surprise, that Helga looked rather stumped as to the answer to his request. She seemed to mull it over for a few seconds before recalling that she was angry about the situation. In that case, she settled upon, "Football Head sucks." as her first attempt.

Arnold shook his head. Helga rolled her eyes.

"You are stupid."

"No."

"You are an idiot."

"It's only three words."

"I hate you!"

"_Close_."

Helga shot him a worried look and her teeth bit down against her bottom lip, a little harder than she had been whilst reading. "I... _really_ hate you?"

"_Three_ words." Arnold reminded her once more with a sigh.

"Right." her brow creased in concentration, her eyes darting along the rows as she considered her next answer. "I... tolerate you?"

Arnold let out a short breath of laughter, maybe they really _would_ get somewhere tonight after all. A late night confession in the English Poetry section? It would be a nice story to tell the children. Because, he was entirely adamant, there _would_ one day be children. "Getting closer."

"I... endure you?"

"Little bit more than that."

"I..." Helga shot him an incredulous look before stuttering, "I-I like you?" whilst doing a commendable job at making it sound absolutely _insane_ and impossible.

Arnold swallowed and adjusted his grip on the book behind his back, glad she wasn't any closer at this stage because she may have been able to hear his heartbeat doing overtime. "Keep going." he suggested as confidently as possible. Knowing her feelings, as strange as it may seem, wasn't making him feel any less nervous.

She eyed him somewhat like a deer in headlights for a brief second, before forcing out a sharp laugh and a choked, "I love you?" which was phrased entirely like a question, and _intended_ to sound just as impossible as merely liking him. It didn't sound impossible at all.

"Right answer." he smiled quickly, the slight nerves of the situation forcing it from his face almost as quick as his emotions wished it to appear. Slowly, he brought the book forward and held it out for her. Her hands were shaking, _hard_, so hard he could see it the moment she shifted, and she grasped loosely at the book and took it for herself.

She stood, body trembling and book clutched between her palms, eyes staring intently at the cover. "Thanks." she whispered uncertainly, her gaze firmly held downward.

"Helga?" he asked after a tense moment of silence, and waited the painfully long six seconds it took for her eyes to leave the hard cover protecting Keats' poetic works, and up to meet his. "I love you too..."

Her eyes snapped open at a comically rapid pace, and she winced when the book fell from her hands and landed on her foot. "I... I, er... _um_..."

If one were to analyse the situation closely, it would be rather clear that Helga didn't exactly confess to _anything _first. Hence, at that moment, Arnold had already broken his own rule by using a technicality and he decided there was no harm in completely screwing his confession policy.

With that decided, he all but jumped her, and figured Gerald would be decidedly proud, as they tumbled back onto the chair she had been sitting on. Her lips were parted in shock, and possibly too from exhaling heavily upon their collision, and he took full advantage of the situation. She _did_ taste like vanilla, and a little like raspberries too, which made him smile. The little sigh she exhaled the moment after his tongue traced her bottom lip made, in his opinion, the entire moment perfect. Possibly, even the entire wait worth it.

Helga stared at him in disbelief the moment he pulled away, and her hand raised to grab hold of his shoulders, as though she were checking he was entirely real. "I love you?" she said again, her voice filled with awe but the words still formed a little like a question. Arnold frowned a little and she squirmed, "I do!" she protested.

Arnold grinned down at her, "I _know_." he stated meaningfully and, after a few moments contemplation about what that might have truly meant, she glared at him in absolute offense. Her low growl of annoyance didn't surprise him at all, nor did the solid, swinging punch delivered swiftly to his left arm.

He was, however, beginning to wonder why she wasn't yelling at him yet, when he noticed she had dived for her phone. Helga, with a very smug expression, waited out the duration of his and Gerald's answering machine message, before...

"Arnold Shortman you are the most _evil, annoying, know-it-all, psychology-studying_, _mind-game-playing _little Football-Headed twirp..."

Arnold flopped back onto the couch with a groan. Gerald was going to _kill_ him!

* * *

A/N: Ughhh, they're just so cutteee

I was contemplating, since this is kinda longer than some of the others, if maybe I should post it up individually (as a one shot) as well? That way if you wish to favorite it, you won't have to sift through nine chapters to reach it? Hmmm...


	10. Chronology

**Chronology for renegade-452  
**_Arnold x Helga x Elevator_

* * *

A/N: Let it officially be known that I _started_ with the elevator part (and the very best of intentions of sticking to the prompt) and somehow it ended up like this? It hardly even fits the prompt anymore (shame on me) but... I like it so... too bad ;)

* * *

On the twenty second day in March, at precisely four thirty five in the morning, Helga Pataki kissed Arnold Shortman. He found her on a rooftop, standing by a voice-box and demanded she explain her involvement in his mission to save their neighbourhood. She paced in her large brown trench coat, recounting her love, detailing her adoration and confessing to years of stalking. She talked about poetry and shrines, and backed him up into an empty corner. He was shocked, bewildered, amazed, confused, and all other relevant synonyms of absolute surprise.

On the first day of April, from the minutes between six seventeen and six twenty two in the evening, Helga Pataki did _not_ kiss Arnold Shortman. She rested her weight heavily in his arms, and exaggerated her blindness ruse to the very limits of its reality. He spun her three times, dipped her once and exchanged pointed words over their situation. She attempted to make him the King of Fools, and he attempted rather successfully to beat her at her own game. She did not speak to him for a week afterward. He couldn't quite discern why that bothered him so very much.

On the tenth day of September, spanning from eight fifteen on Monday morning to seven forty six on Thursday night, Helga Pataki did _not_ kiss Arnold Shortman. She muttered blatant curse words underneath her breath at being assigned his partner for their first partner project of the fifth grade. He asked, with as much friendly determination as possible, if she might like to work on it at his hours after school. She successfully shattered the thick glass of the Boarding House biosphere by combining two chemicals that he clearly advised she _not_ mix. They swiftly moved their basis of operation to her house, although she would let him _nowhere_ near her bedroom. She was unusually quiet, and their work was completed in record time. He mentioned to her, very happily, that they had worked rather well together and in response she promptly pushed him out the door.

On the second day of October, at approximately ten fifty eight in the morning and onward, Helga Pataki did _not_ kiss Arnold Shortman. She sneered a weak remark about the size of his oddly shaped head, and its ability to navigate through doorways, as she hopped into the elevator with him at Hillwood Mall. He was surprised, but not unpleasantly so, to run into her there as shopping never seemed like her thing. She was halfway through cursing her sister for dragging her to the complex in the first place when the compartment jumped suddenly and all movement stopped. He firmly pressed the 'emergency' button whilst she flew around in a senseless panic about the tragedy of dying young. He laughed each and every time she called him Football Head, calmed her down when she frantically re-pushed the emergency button over and over again and listened patiently whilst she expressed her dismay at the response time of the elevator technicians. She exhausted herself enough to fall asleep ten minutes before they were 'rescued' and he found himself wondering if she was always so... _interesting_ to live with.

On the twenty fourth day of December, at sometime not long before five in the afternoon, Helga Pataki did _not_ kiss Arnold Shortman. She hurried down the sidewalk with great purpose, her oncoming image nothing but a blur of pink before she slammed into him and sent them sprawling onto the concrete path. He, as usual, extended his hand to her in a silent offer to aid her onto her feet and, surprisingly, she accepted the gesture. She was almost entirely to her feet once more when his preoccupation with the warmth of her glove-less hands in his caused him to stop pulling against her weight. She spluttered a little as they both crashed to the ground once more, this time with him toppling directly on top of her and effectively knocking the air from her lungs. He stared at her until she growled lowly and demanded he get the heck off of her, or else she would remove his intestines the old fashioned way. He apologised while brushing snow from his jacket, and she frowned before walking away without another word. He noticed she hadn't once during their entire exchange, called him Football Head, and it made him horribly anxious.

On the second day of February, at exactly one fifteen during lunch, Helga Pataki did _not_ kiss Arnold Shortman. She lifted the very last of the tapioca puddings into the palm of her hand, and stared at it thoughtfully before turning to face him. He failed to disguise his shock when she casually inquired if he would like to have it, but said _yes_ nonetheless. She shrugged and dropped it onto his lunch tray, very nonchalantly informing him that she hadn't truly wanted it much anyhow. He, for reasons beyond his more conscious understanding, thanked her by pulling her into a tight hug. She wriggled away, glared and told him never to do _anything_ like that again. He briefly wondered if kissing her would be considered as 'anything like that', but brushed the thought away as soon as it surfaced.

On the eighteenth day of April, at possibly three thirty or just after, Helga Pataki did _not_ kiss Arnold Shortman. She had clearly noted the familiarity of the situation they had found themselves in and looked seriously displeased to have been caught once more, but she also appeared better prepared. He had traced a long line of bribery, lies and cheap threats ensuring his victory in an essay writing competition, directly back to her and he _had_ to ask her why. She let him back _her_ into the corner this time, her lanky body squished between two walls of lockers, and he demanded she explain herself. He was absolutely certain, by the time the second pathetic excuse was tumbling from her lips, that if he pushed her far enough, this discussion _might_ just end up a little like the FTI rooftop. She insisted, rather vehemently, that she simply _liked_ the jungle, and wished to see it for herself. He informed her that he honestly did not believe that, and so she simply shrugged, and walked away. He spent the lead up to the trip thinking far too much about why she didn't react to his interrogation like last time, rather than the possibility of finding his parents.

On the twelfth of June, at the moment of five twenty one in the morning, Arnold Shortman wondered _why_ Helga Pataki hadn't kissed him since FTI. He warmed his hands over the flames of the small campfire and let his eyes wander over the dense jungle terrain surrounding him. He concurred, with rational deduction and sharp memory, that she had perfect opportunity to make contact with his lips on at least six occasions during the fourteen months prior. He frowned darkly at how incredibly _frustrated_ she was making him, causing him to question why she hadn't taken her chance at any of those moments. He wondered, too, if it meant she had no intention of _ever_ kissing him again. And, just like he had each and every one of those six times she walked away, the thought of _not_ kissing her made him very unhappy, and incredibly disappointed.

On the fourteenth of June, at precisely nine fifty nine in the darkness of night, Arnold Shortman kissed Helga Pataki. She shuddered violently, huddling herself closer to him underneath the tropical foliage, as torrential rain fell around them. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder go pull her against him and she looked up at him in pure surprise. She was shaking the moment his face moved toward hers and somebody made a strange noise, but he couldn't be sure who. He held her tight, pressed their lips together and hoped he was half as decent at the whole kissing thing as she had been. She relaxed against him as though she were melting into a puddle, so he figured he hadn't done too badly. He decided, almost immediately, that he _never_ wanted to let her go another day without making sure she kissed him.

And so (excluding a period of nine hundred and eighty four days where he lived in an entirely different country and couldn't really help it) he never did.

* * *

A/N #2: So, by this timeline here TJM happens the summer between fifth and sxith grade, which I know isn't technically correct. However, it worked out best for this story that way and June 14th is my birthday so it makes me smile. :)


	11. Reconciliation

**Reconciliation for Myriamj  
**_Bob x Miriam x Reconciliation_

* * *

Helga, their youngest daughter, was a lot like Miriam Brenner. Miriam Brenner was intelligent, creative and skilfully athletic. She stood for nothing that got in her way, and she always knew what she wanted.

Brenner headlined for the Plainsville High School swim team during their Senior year, and she had been the object of Bob Pataki's fascination since the very first moment he saw her as a Freshman. She was undeniably good looking; blonde with bright blue eyes and a water-toned curvy figure. Not that he had ever spoken to her, but she was quick witted and rarely lost a debate. Without a doubt, at least half the male population of the school would happily line up for her phone number.

Edwards, star running back for the football team, toted Brenner around on his arm like a trophy and it was insanely annoying. He wanted nothing more than to punch his snide-looking face. Brenner had begun as simply a fantasy, a face and a name for his daydreams, but he had soon become addicted. Still, nobody needed to _know_ that. Pataki pride was a serious issue and it would do no good to admit he was pining after the golden girl, far out of his league.

In total, he had attended twenty four swim meets, taken two un-necessary classes and denied any attraction to her over fifty times, before they even spoke for the first time. It was barely three sentences later that they kissed. Brenner was drunk beyond measure, probably for the first time ever given her confusion as to why the room kept spinning, and she had stalked over wanting to know if he was _'the Pataki guy that knows about electronics'._ Five minutes later he was in the high school staff room rewiring a television set so she could catch the penultimate _Wrestlemania_ fight. He hadn't actually watched wrestling before, seeing as he preferred Baseball and Football, but when she decided to kiss him halfway through Mad Mike and Super-Slam Sam's fight, he decided he liked the sport quite a lot.

Olga, their oldest daughter, was a lot like Katherine Brenner. Katherine Brenner was cheerful, passive but sometimes a little flighty. She took direction well and sought to make her family smile at every turn.

Perhaps that was precisely why Olga had been simple to raise. The Brenner sisters had grown up close, and Katherine was the younger of the two. Essentially, Miriam had witnessed the raising of a child just like Olga before, and knowing how to raise a child like her so successfully was simply instinctual. Olga did exactly as she was asked, and despite sometimes doing something unexpected, she never went against the wishes of her family. She didn't set the date for her wedding until her parents had been won over by that pansy con-mans charms, and she didn't pursue her acting career until her father had stopped throwing her awards around the trophy room in protest.

Helga, on the other hand, might have been as intelligent as her mother, even _more_ creative and just as athletic – but she was also a Pataki. Bob did not like that at all, and his poor younger daughter suffered for it far more than she should have. Because, he truly couldn't stand the way her determination easily transformed into aggression. He couldn't handle seeing her brilliant creativity limited to two dozen carefully locked away pink books and one small wardrobe crawl-space. He despised the way she used her intelligence to avoid her family and intimidate her classmates. It made him panic each and every time he looked at her, because...

Bob Pataki was absolutely convinced he had single-handedly ruined his poor youngest daughter by cursing her with Pataki DNA. And what if, to add to his crimes, he had ruined Miriam Brenner, by making _her_ a Pataki, too.

After all, she had been drunk, _and_ dating somebody else, the first time she kissed him. Pregnant when she walked down the aisle. In hospital for weeks after giving birth to Olga and clinically depressed after Helga. Diagnosed an alcoholic by the time Helga was seven. Slowly and painfully each and every detail Bob Pataki remembered about Brenner, Miriam Brenner, was wilting away into something he no longer recognised. The woman behind his couch now, passed out for hours and sure to wake with a raging hangover she would solve with more liquor, was she Miriam _Pataki_? Was Miriam Pataki a dreary looking woman, who fumbled on her words and had no energy to live her life?

Bob was afraid she might be, and just maybe, Miriam Pataki and Miriam Brenner needed reconciliation. Maybe he needed to go back to the start and help her be a little bit of both, his wife and his young love. By the time he had finished pondering the situation, he had rearranged his lounge room furniture and managed to dredge up an old television set. He had emptied the last drop of alcohol down the kitchen sink when the doorbell sounded and Helga called out from upstairs.

"Hey, kid."

Arnold, better known to him as the kid, or the football headed boy, stood on the stoop looking mildly uneasy, as always. He had a good reason for doing so, after all, the moment he uttered a response to the greeting was the moment he would begin to receive the standard lecture.

"Hello, Mr Pataki."

Beginning the customary threat of not even _thinking _about putting his slimy hands anywhere near his youngest daughter – not now, not in the future, not ever – suddenly seemed useless. Arnold was a decent kid, thoroughly annoying at the best of times, but the boy was thoughtful and loved Helga beyond measure. Besides, ten months ago the kid had stopped receiving his lecture with patient politeness and instead nodded with slightly awkward horror. Bob was no idiot, it was rather clear that the kid had, in fact, put his hands _all over_ his daughter at some point around that time. He was also aware that the kid had the morals of a nun, whereas his feisty youngest daughter most certainly did not and Bob commended the boy for resisting her as long as he had. After all, Bob himself had failed miserably at that with Miriam.

Helga bounded down the stairs before he could even open his mouth, and Arnold looked like he had been saved from an oncoming bus. Bob smiled uncharacteristically at them.

"Helga?"

"Yeah?"

"Stay out tonight, come home tomorrow or something. Yeah?"

Arnold looked about as shocked, maybe panicked, as any teenage boy would when more-or-less given permission to do inappropriate things with ones daughter for an entire night. Helga simply grinned like the cat that caught the canary, and assured her father that he need not tell her twice, before dragging the kid off toward his car.

"Huh?"

Bob snapped his head around as he pushed the front door shot, turning to see Miriam slowly emerging from the trophy room with a hand placed to her, probably pounding, forehead. She appeared, as usual, rather bewildered by her surroundings and probably again wondering why she had fallen asleep on the floor. He felt the standard guilt flood his body, had he _truly_ reduced the beautiful, wonderful Miriam Brenner to _this__?_

"Miriam. Come back to the office, we're going to watch _Wrestlemania_."

"Office?"

"Staff office. Come on."

One worn picnic rug was spread out over the Trophy Room, or rather the 'office' floor, and just beyond it sat a now ancient looking television set. Miriam appeared slightly more alert when her eyes caught sight of the old-school wrestling match blaring from the aging speakers.

"Mad Mike... Super-Slam Sam?"

Miriam _Brenner_ would have dragged them both to sit on the fading picnic rug at this particular junction, but Miriam Pataki made no such move. Instead, Bob guided her down onto the floor and settled himself beside his slightly disoriented wife, tucking her small frame firmly against his broad chest. On screen, Mad Mike called time out for a bloody nose and Super-Slam Sam pumped his gloved fist at the raving audience. Miriam blinked at the television screen before tilting her head up slowly to look at Bob with slight confusion. He sighed, she was more than likely still drunk from her latest binge.

"Miriam, you're getting help. You're going to AA."

"Oh, B... gosh, I don't need t-"

"No, Miriam, you're going."

Miriam stiffened a little in his grasp; they had never directly discussed her addiction to alcohol, not since her problem had been confirmed a decade prior. Bob could admit, right then and there, that he had taken the cowards way out of dealing with the issue. Then again, she had too. Pataki's - they had acted like _Pataki's_, masking their fear with an air of misplaced pride. Back then, he didn't think they were capable of dealing with it, not able to say the words 'drunk' or 'alcoholic' because it might make it all too real. But, if Helga could tell her classmates she loved the football headed kid, _and_ show him her entire collection of pink books, then surely _he_ could step up to help his wife and _she_ could find the determination to get better. Yes, it was completely possible._  
_

"And, I think you should hyphenate your name."

"My... name?"

"Yes, something like, Miriam Brenner-Pataki."

"Oh... well, alright, B... I-I think I'd like that."

Miriam Pataki, at that moment, was still slightly intoxicated and didn't fully grasp the reason she was sitting on a picnic rug watching _Wrestlemania _but that didn't matter so much right now. Bob Pataki was determined that, one day in the future, Miriam Brenner-Pataki would share this memory with him, completely sober, and they would truly begin a reconciliation.

* * *

A/N: Helga is seventeen here, she and Arnold have been together for about a year and a half... just in case you wanted to know.


	12. Drinking

**Drinking for hydeandjackieforever20  
**_Arnold x Helga x Drinking_

* * *

**Warning: **Swearing & sexual references.

* * *

Tattlers Bar was practically empty on a Tuesday night, filled primarily with husbands who didn't want to go home, passing travellers and, by random chance, the dismayed and the heartbroken. Arnold Shortman didn't fit into any of those categories himself, but the reason he was sitting here was certainly due to the latter. His best friend was staring at him with clouded drunken eyes that betrayed the bravado she had been displaying so far and he found himself at a loss for words.

"Stephen was..." he began, searching for the correct thing to say. He didn't want to be brutally honest, it wasn't his style and he doubted she could handle it right now, but he could hardly downplay the way he felt about the man, either. "...not so great, but-"

"_Not so great_?" she spat back in a slight slur, waving a dismissive hand at his choice of words. "That's the best you can do? Stephen was a motherfucker!" her eyes flickered with hurt for a mere second and her mouth twitched at the sides. She spoke once more, her tone lower, "Or, sister-fucker, if we're being precise."

Arnold winced and he felt an uncomfortable heat course through his veins. Normally, he might have blamed that on the alcohol, but he hadn't touched a drop tonight. "_Sister?_" it was almost a whisper, and honestly he didn't want to accept it, he didn't want to know that somebody, _anybody_, would stoop that low. "He... Olga? Shit, Helga."

She chortled a little, a hint of that illusive smile showing through, "Well, fuck me, Arnold said 'shit'!" she exclaimed merrily.

"Don't change the subject, Helga." he warned, knowing her diversion tactics all too well. Helga was not one to speak about her feelings, and she became dismissive if anybody came too near to unravelling her secrets. He would know - he'd tried, and largely failed, to figure them out. "I... I can't believe he did that."

Helga bit her lip as though she were contemplating it for a moment, her fingers tapping against the thick glass holding her rum and coke. "I can." she announced honestly. Her expression showed no pain, just understanding, as though it made perfect sense.

"Clearly he is just a bad person." he offered. His mind flickered through the possibilities of punching Stephen's face in, to breaking both his legs. Ultimately, he knew he would not go through with either, but he liked to imagine his retribution whenever somebody broke her heart.

"Oh, come _on_, you say that about all of my boyfriends!" she was laughing now, giggling merrily as though it were some hilarious joke. It really wasn't, he honestly hated the lot of them.

"I... well, yes..." he admitted somewhat awkwardly. It was all very well and good envisioning their gruesome ends, but he didn't exactly want to verbalise the thought. "You have bad taste in men."

She slumped onto the bar slightly, propped up by her elbows with her head resting on her forearm. "That's funny." she practically hummed as her blonde hair fell around her face like a curtain, "Ya know, coming from _you_ and all..."

Arnold raised an eyebrow, "Why? Because _I_ have a bad taste in women?" he sighed, half knowing it was correct, from what _she_ knew anyway. "That just means we're even."

"No, noo... that's not it!" she frowned, waving that hand loosely in his face once more. "But, you're right... 'can bake a cake' and 'enjoys petting fluffy kittens' are not solid methods of selecting potential partners."

"Hey, that isn't fair!" he defended quickly, although he found he could hardly back up any claim to deny that. Not one he was willing to share, in any case. "I do not choose my girlfriends based on- _wait_, what do you mean 'that's not it'... what's the reason you were talking about?"

She took a quick sip from her glass, the velvety liquid escaping between her glistening lips as she cocked her head to the slide slightly. "Er... huh?" she blinked, her tongue darting out quickly to savor the remaining taste, "Reason for what?"

"You said it was 'funny, coming from me'... what's that supposed to mean?" he slung one of his own arms to rest on the top of the bar.

Helga frowned a little harder, her blue eyes searching his face relentlessly for a moment before she leaned forward. The silver chain, the one he'd brought her for Christmas two years ago, slipped from the confines of her white button-up shirt and dangled as she moved, "Say what?" she squinted. "Are you _drunk_?"

Laughing slightly, he slid a foot underneath her barstool and slid her closer. If she wanted to study his face so closely, he wouldn't have her doing it at an angle that could send her sprawling to the ground. "No, Helga, _you_ are drunk."

She grinned and raised her almost empty glass in the air, "Oh yeah!" she cried out. "I just wish... I could enact revenge, ya know?" she asked thoughtfully as she brought the glass to her eye-level and swished the liquid clockwise three times. "Like, make him walk in on _me_ shouting somebody else's name."

Arnold shifted uncomfortably; he didn't entirely enjoy picturing her in that kind of situation. "Please don't tell me you're going to attempt to seduce his bother or something, just for-"

"He's an only child." she cut off sharply, a glum look of defeat and a tiny scowl on her face. He silently thanked Stephen's parents for not giving him a sibling.

"Good, I'd say that's probably for the best right now." he said politely as possible. "I don't think I trust you not to attempt a misguided vendetta."

She licked her lips absentmindedly and started at her drink like it was a gypsy's ball. "I met his cousin once..." she said with an odd expression, "real loser, but maybe-"

"No."

"Aw!" she pouted adorably, looking like a child who'd had their toy confiscated. "Who are you to deny me my revenge, Shortman?"

Arnold smiled at her, "Your best friend," he informed her confidently, "who cares for your safety." He thought it over for a moment before quickly adding, "Phoebe would agree, too."

She scoffed loudly, "_Phoebe_ doesn't understand. She and Geraldo have their picture perfect life with their white picket fence and their two point five children with a dog." she let out a pained breath of air, "And she has no sisters, either."

"She also doesn't _actually_ have two point five children, nor a dog." he pointed out helpfully. She flashed him that look that, all in all, meant he was making things better... but he was being annoying, too. It was somewhere between a lazy smile and a roll of her eyes, and as far as he was aware, it was a look purely reserved for him.

She was quiet for a few moments, before placing the glass back onto the bar, "She does have the picket fence, however..." she noted quietly. He briefly wondered if maybe she was jealous of that, not the fence itself, but the stereotypical idea of the perfect life. He could definitely imagine her in a suburban dream house, with two kids and a dog. Definitely a dog - _not_ a fluffy kitten.

"Yes, and it's a nice fence, but it's not justification for sleeping with your ex-boyfriends cousin." he felt like he was close to begging now. Begging your best friend not to sleep with somebody wasn't very platonic though, so he figured he should probably stop.

"Boyfriend." she said bluntly, looking completely unfazed by his confused expression in return. "Not ex. Still boyfriend."

He didn't know what to say. "_What_?" was all that escaped his mouth.

She swiftly picked the glass up from the bar once more, "Left before those adultery-ing bitches saw me. Been here for, oh, three hours." she motioned to the general vicinity around her stool, and drowned the rest of her glass in one gulp. "Refill, and make it snappy!" she demanded of the bartender the moment she set it back down on the faded runner. She looked back toward him with a slightly tortured expression, "_He _is unaware that _I_ am aware that _he _is a sister-fucking cheating asshole of a devil. Capiche?"

"Uh, yeah...capiche." he managed to force out, as the bartender refilled her glass beside him. "But, you _are_ going to end thing with him, right?" he asked, slightly panicked, as he slid the now refilled drink to a spot just beyond her reach. "You're not going to just..."

"Helga Pataki does not let people walk on her grave!" she announced loudly, earning a few stares from nearby drinkers. "Figuratively... you know. So, _yes_ I'm going to end it." she shot forward and grasped for the drink, cradling it in two hands like precious liquid gold. "I would _prefer_ to do so after he finds me with my legs wrapped around somebody else, but alas, my sensible best friend says _no_."

Arnold pursed his lips, "I think, in time, you will thank your sensible best friend for that." he assured her.

She rolled her eyes and took a small sip, "Oh, more than likely. I usually do."

"Oh, really?" he grinned.

Helga groaned and shook her head, "Wipe that smile off your oblong face, Football Head!" she demanded with her usual spark. He was about to tease her a little further, when her eyes snapped to the doorway and her expression fell into an icy stare. "Oh, _fuck_, cheating asshole, ten o'clock." she practically hissed.

Turning slowly, Arnold caught sight of Stephen LaTrobe entering Tattlers Bar and felt himself grimace. "I really don't think you should confront him whilst drunk..." he said carefully, taking one of Helga's hands in his. Her soft skin was warm and slightly sticky from spilled rum and coke.

"No, that never does turn out well." she said thoughtfully, her hand gripping his as she spoke. "Last time I got drunk I told him he was terrible in bed..." she hummed a little in amusement at herself and added ruefully, "You know, that might have contributed to my current predicament."

"Probably," he responded honestly, "it tends to be sensitive subject."

She laughed with a sincere smile and the hand not currently intertwined with his moved to gasp his forearm. "Arnold..." she said lowly, a little off-balance but not too concerned, "he's coming this way."

Glancing up warily, he noted that Stephen was definitely headed in their direction. "Uhh..." he said warily. His mind screamed at him that Helga wanted Stephen to find her with someone else, and he could give her exactly that. Minus the naked part, considering they were in a bar. "Just, come closer." he instructed, but it sounded full of nerves.

"Closer?" she asked, tilting her head and causing long blonde waves to tumble over her shoulders. Her lips were parted slightly in hopeless confusion and her blue eyes watched him intently. "But-"

Instincts fully taking control, he lifted her from her own stool and pulled her into his lap, wrapping his hands firmly around her waist to settle on the curve of her hips. She gasped slightly as he tilted her chin and moved forward to place his lips firmly against hers. His eyes closed involuntarily, despite knowing he should be keeping an eye on LaTrobe, and when her hands wrapped around his neck he almost forgot they were in a bar...

Almost.

"Screw you, Helga! I _knew _it!" a loud shout pulled Arnold from his thoughts and planted him firmly back into reality. Helga tensed and turned to face her soon-to-be-ex-boyfriend. "_Best friend_, what a load of bullshit!" he mocked angrily, motioning toward the two of them, still embracing on the stool.

Helga hardly missed a beat before rolling her eyes, "Oh yeah?" she said sarcastically, her tone pure loathing, "Like that's better than fucking my sister!"

Stephen startled a little at first, but crossed his arms and shot her a snide look. "What can I say, I was tired of slumming it with the ugly duckling." his retort made that uncomfortable angry heat spread through Arnold's body once more.

"Helga is the furthest fucking thing from 'slumming it', you piece of shit!" he hardly had time to comprehend that _he_ was the one yelling those words, before he'd scooted Helga from his lap and landed a punch right on the bridge of Stephen's nose. LaTrobe stumbled back, grasping at his face whilst Arnold pulled Helga toward the exit.

"_Woah..._" she breathed as they hurried out into the cool winter night. "You _hit_ somebody... and _swore_... and... and..." they came to a stop on the sidewalk just outside Tattlers.

Arnold cleared his throat and glanced over to her, "And kissed you". he finished her list.

She let out a soft laugh and shifted her feet awkwardly, "Uh-huh."

"Not how I had always imagined it, but..." he said, almost to himself without thinking it through, as he rubbed his hands together to create extra warmth.

Silence filled the immediate area, and Arnold took a few seconds to steel himself before glancing over in Helga's direction. She looked bewildered, and frozen to the spot. "Imagined it?"

Arnold bit his lip and began to pace. Phoebe had been encouraging him to 'go for it the moment she was single' since somewhere around _four_ boyfriends ago, but he doubted this was what she'd had in mind. "Uh, yeah, it was usually by a warm fireplace, and not in a seedy bar..." he started lamely, "And, you were definitely single, and actually had feeling for me in return." It was silent again, he rubbed his hands over his face, "This is awkward."

She moved forward, half striding and half tripping over her own drunken feet, until she was standing inches away from him. "Well, there's no fire.. but these street lamps are kinda warm..." she shrugged as she pointed to the source of bright yellow light above them, "and, I think it's fair to say I'm officially single now..."

"And... the feelings in return part?" he mumbled slightly.

"Check."

She smiled at him like pure happiness coursed through her veins, while her blue eyes sparkled, and he was at a loss for words for the second time that night. Words didn't matter this time, though, because this time he could simply kiss her instead.

* * *

A/N: I actually had two different ideas for this prompt so (maybe not as the next thing, but definitely sometime soon) I will post up 'Drinking (2)'


	13. Parents

**Parents for HelgaButtercup  
**_Arnold x Helga x Parents_

* * *

He is looking through photo albums in the study when he finds it. It's bright pink and glossy, the cover is filled with butterflies and flowers. His eyes go wide, his heart beats a little faster and he chokes on his next breath of air.

_Is Helga... pregnant?_

It's not like him to jump to conclusions but his wife is confusingly secretive sometimes, even after all these years, and he _is_ currently staring at a baby name book. A baby name book in her favourite shade of pink, that just so happened to be hidden in her favourite room of the house.

He finds it a little hard to settle on one thought pattern, because a million things are whirring through his mind. He has questions. He needs answers. They're too young. It's too soon. He needs more evidence. He needs to calm down.

He spends the rest of the day flipping through the book, searching all the cupboards in the house and double-checking their internet browser history. She's circled names in the book: _Eva, Kate, Paige, Sasha_. She has a torn piece of paper scribbled with _Doctor Parkin – Paediatrician (Ravenshill)_ in the top drawer in her study. She has Googled countless parenting articles over the past two weeks; the most frequently visited being a site called _Mother & Daughter._

_Helga is definitely pregnant, and it's a girl._

She comes home later that afternoon a little stressed; looking unusually flustered, and is on the phone to Phoebe before he can think of a way to tactfully broach the subject. He manages to bite his tongue until dinner time when she asks:

"Do you think... for a baby with brown hair, would 'Eva' or 'Paige' be a better name?"

"_Brown _hair?"

"Yup, I think that's what I've decided, it makes the most sense – don't you think?"

"Err... No, not really?"

"I think so. I mean, Ingrid has brown hair – just because Martin's hair is black doesn't necessarily mean he's going to tromp the genetic pool. Besides, I established in the second chapter of _Ingrid of Ravenshill_ that his parents are brunettes, so _I_ think it makes perfect sense, Football Head."

Oh, right, he married an author. He's an idiot.

* * *

A/N: I _am_ working on the last chapter of Angela on the Couch and the next chapter of Curly's Love Potion and I will have them out sooooon! Promise. :)


	14. Wingwoman

**Wingwoman for stagetrinity**

_Phoebe + Arnold x Wingwoman_

* * *

_It's always the smart ones that lack social skills._

Phoebe Heyerdahl had not always entirely agreed with Thaddeus "Curly" Gammelthorpe's now-famous quip from freshman year. Despite knowing very well that Curly was intelligent, and also acknowledging that intelligent people often had some odd quirks, she was disinclined to believe that the rule was absolute. Mainly, because she knew _she_ was smart and she felt her own personal social skills were rather acceptable.

She was wrong.

Unofficially, to some degree, Phoebe had always been Helga Pataki's wingwoman – although usually in a clean-up-the-mess kind of way as opposed to the general help-me-score-tonight kind of way. She had chased a slumbering Helga down Vine Street, bribed the Jolly Olly man to change his ice-cream route and instigated unofficial double dates via Gerald. She had also somewhat failed in each and every one of those situations. In fact, the only one time Phoebe Heyerdahl had 'wingwoman-ed' successfully was when she lost sight of a monitor lizard which then ate a not-so-innocent parrot – and _that_ had simply been pure luck.

At least, previously, her lacking skills hadn't caused any lasting damage.

Rhonda Wellington Lloyd's nineteenth birthday party was, of course, the moment years of tip-toeing on the edge had resulted with Phoebe taking a flying leap into the pits of disaster and, naturally, bringing Helga down with her. In her defense, one she would continue to maintain for years to come, she had begged Helga not to push it that evening. Helga had responded, with an insulted look, saying that she hadn't seen Arnold in almost a year and a half – she was more than surely over it. And that was, without a doubt, another brilliant case of _famous last words_ from Helga Geraldine Pataki.

Whatever had caused the argument, Phoebe would possibly never know, but by the time somebody rounded her up to come and tame her best friends temper – venomous words were being exchanged. Arnold, who was leaning against the solid wooden bar with a none-too-pleased expression of his face, was speaking as Phoebe entered the room. Something about Helga's inability to act like a decent human being toward her old friends. Helga, typically, had retorted that Arnold had _never_ been her friend. And, so it continued from there.

"Fine, Helga, we were never friends – but if that's the case then why bother to talk to me? Go bother somebody you _were_ friends with."

"Maybe I will! Anything would be better than suffering through your presence. I don't know how people can _stand_ to put up with you."

"_Why_ Helga, what exactly is so wrong with me?"

"You mean aside from _everything? _Maybe all those annoying do-gooder morals! _Or,_ your ridiculously football-shaped head. And do you even own a hairbrush because your hair seems to have a mind of its own! Oh, and there's the fact that you can't make a decent swing with a baseball bat to save your life and don't even _remind_ me about those loopy formations you somehow think count as football plays. Who in their right mind would _ever_ like you?"

"You, Helga – _you_!" she hadn't meant to say anything, honestly she hadn't – she had even been avoiding stepping into the fight to calm Helga down. It had escaped her lips entirely involuntarily the moment Helga's last sentence hit her ears and it had come out in a very commanding tone of voice. All she had wanted to do was slip out unnoticed, but the room had gone eerily quiet and everybody turned in her direction, and the words just kept spilling from her mouth. "Statistically speaking, out of everybody in this room _you, _Helga, are most likely to lack the state of mentality required to dislike the qualities you listed."

"I _what_ – Phoebe I hate all of those things!"

"Highly improbable seeing as you are in love with him."

Expressions ranging from Helga's wild anger, to Arnold's bewilderment, and the rest of the room's mixed surprise, smugness or confusion – were enough to make Phoebe's stomach drop.

She was the _worst_ wingwoman ever.

* * *

A/N: stagetrinity, I know you wanted Phoebe/Arnold interaction and I know this doesn't really deliver - but it's what came to mind and hopefully you still enjoy it :/


	15. Telepathy

**Telepathy for renegade-452  
**_Arnold x Helga x Telepathy_

* * *

A/N: Or, to name this story more aptly: shameless interrogation foreplay.

* * *

Arnold exhaled, gritting his teeth and pushing his tongue against the roof of his mouth. His eyes narrowed, arms shaking and muscles burning as he lowered himself slowly toward the ground. Steadied by his strong forearms, his chest hovered inches above the hard floor, and his mind counted another repetition. One hundred and forty five down, and five to go. His muscles flexed, jumping under the strain as he pushed up, lifting his body once more and sharply inhaling as he rose.

"Woah!" he choked, without warning, as a sudden sharp, cold pressure was applied to his spine. Quaking underneath the pressure, his balance broke, sending him thudding onto the cold, wooden floorboards. Quickly, the spike-like object shifted against his back, making him wince, and a flatter surface descended to rest upon his shoulder blade. Shifting his body as best he could, he strained to identify the cause of his sudden discomfort. His eyes met with long, pale legs and pale pink stiletto heels. "What th-"

Sharply, the heel was forced deeper into his back, wrenching against the tender nerves and Arnold let out a reflexive groan. "Quiet, Shortman." she demanded above him, "I do the speaking, and _you_ answer when questioned. Capiche?"

Arnold bit against his tongue, heart racing and back aching. "Uh, Helga?" he struggled out.

Helga growled lowly, sliding the point of her heel higher along his spine, making the muscles jump and clench. "I _said_, capiche?" she hissed, sliding the flat of her shoe to his neck, and impeding his movement, making him unable to look up at her.

"I'm far more likely to help if you-"

"How _far_," she began harshly, wedging the stiletto harder into his flesh and causing a sharp hiss to escape the back of his throat, "into your spinal cord do you want me to shove this heel, before you'll play by my rules?"

Groaning loudly, he squirmed in a vein attempt to shift the impact point. She held fast, pushing the flat of her shoe firmly against the side of his neck. "Fine." he conceded, wincing. "Fine."

Helga shifted her stance, putting more weight on the flat of her shoe, and decreasing the pressure of the heel against his nerves. He knew it was a reward, for his cooperation, but he wasn't about to let her win. "_Where_ have you hidden my pink books?" she demanded to know, her tone so cold it almost had him shiver.

"What makes you think I would-"

"Cut the crap, Football Head." she advised, heel sinking slightly in displeasure at his deliberate insolence. "You're a terrible liar."

Arnold tensed automatically beneath her, eyes shutting tight, in anticipation of her next move. She waited, patiently, for all of three seconds, before the pressure increased slightly, once more. "Are you even paying attention?" she questioned, at his fail to respond.

"You said, _only answer when questioned_." he repeated self-righteously, drawing a short, sharp breath of air. "I was waiting."

Sensations of tingling erupted like fire along his back, as Helga twisted and lifted her heel from against his spine. Her foot came to rest beside his hip, and blood rushed to the previous numbed areas, relaxing his muscles like water over the flames. Attempting to push himself up, he found the shiny leather of her heel come to push against his chest, flipping him onto his back.

Helga immediately placed her favourite pink shoes against the planes of his pectoral muscle, pinning him to the floor once again. His eyes wandered up her body, beyond her endless legs and up to the wavy blonde hair falling to her waist. Her sparkling blue eyes were narrowed at him, soft pink lips pursed and chest heaving with silent mirth. Arnold licked his lips involuntarily.

"You're a smug little shit sometimes." she remarked, "You know that?"

Arnold smiled, against his better judgement, "Somebody mentioned it once." he tested her knowingly. Instantly, her foot pressed harder, slipping her heels father up his chest and he chewed his tongue again to hold back a noise. "Sorry," he noted nonchalantly, eyes locked to the soft, pale skin of her thighs, "can I help you with something?"

"Where are the books?" she glared.

Shrugging, as best he dared given his precarious position, he looked at her defiantly, "I cannot give you that information."

Helga growled again, pushing the point of her heel into his skin enough to draw a line, that was sure to leave a mark, down across his chest to his wait. "Football Head, this is not funny." she warned. Her heel slipped from his skin, and instead, Helga dropped her body down to straddle his lap. She crawled closer, inching along his body slowly and carefully, "I can be very persuasive when I want answers." she hummed. Her lips brushed against his ear, her words whispered, "I think you know that."

Without cognitive awareness, Arnold's hands moved to reach for her, to touch her milky skin and drag her hips down, against his own. Helga, however, always one step ahead of him, captured his wrists before they could reach their desired destination. He grunted in dissatisfaction as she pinned both arms above his head and he ignored the embarrassing urge to writhe beneath her.

"You're going to burn them." he ground out weakly, inhaling a thick breath of air.

Helga tightened her grip on his wrists, "Yes." she said pointedly, assuredly. "They're embarrassing."

Arnold shook his head, unwilling to back down, and lifted his eyes to match her baby blues. "They're cute." he challenged.

Unimpressed, Helga bit against her bottom lip in agitation, shifting her grasp to hold both his wrists in one hand. Arnold, knowing that without both hands he could easily break her hold, went to move but was distracted by the soft touch of her finger against his chest. His attention was immediately on her hands, as she brushed teasingly against the exposed skin of his upper body, trailing a winding path further and further down.

"_I'm_ cute, right _now." _she purred, tracing her tongue along her lips as her fingers swept along the waist of his jeans. Arnold's hips jerked slightly at her feather-light touch. "So, how about telling me where those books are?"

Arnold faltered, letting out a deep groan as the tips of her fingers dipped below the waistband close to his hip. "No way, Helga." he ground out, gritting his teeth, "I'm not caving."

Ignoring him, she ghosted her lips over his cheek and down to nip along his jawline. "Arnold, sweetie," her thumb drew lazy circles against his abdomen, "I'm going to need to know where those books are." she murmured lovingly. Dropping her head, she rocked forward to bit against his earlobe with force and demanded, "_Now_."

Clenching his hands against hers, he forced his tongue against the back of his teeth and up against the roof of his mouth to hide any reaction. He shook his head in refusal to cooperate, and her hand pushed against his chest, so she could pull herself back to gaze down at him. She tilted her head, eyes surveying him with growing impatience. Arnold held his body still and controlled his laboured breathing, silently showing his refusal to bend to her will. Helga let out a disgruntled breath.

Shifting her body slowly against his, she moved her hand to cradle his jaw and elevated herself nose-to-nose and eye-to-eye with him. Much like she used to, when they were kids, her piercing eyes locked onto his and, calculated and still, she stared. Silence quickly descended upon the room.

Arnold frowned, "Helga, what are you..."

"Telepathy." she responded shortly, eyes never wavering.

Surprised by her answer, and her completely uncharacteristic new tactic, he blinked dumbly. "_Telepathy_?" he repeated.

Helga ran her tongue across her lips once more, undeterred by his confusion. "Mhmmm..." she hummed confidently, "reading your mind."

"You think you're going to-"

"_Shhh_..." she insisted, placing her finger against his lips to silence his words.

Arnold relaxed, thoughts drifting to the feel of her chest against his, and the pressure of her legs around his waist. Soft skin of her hand against his lips and jaw, her eyes wide and curious and lips parted slightly as she studied him intently. Her enchanting, and violent, determination that he loved and admired so much. His hands itched to touch her, and he thought about drawing that finger resting on his lips, into his mouth, between his teeth. Imagined using his body weight to shift their positions, and make her forget _all_ about those books...

"A-HA!" she suddenly exclaimed, startling him as she clambered to her feet. "You put them behind the fridge!" she announced, entirely correctly, and disappeared down the hallway at lightening speed.

Arnold gaped, "How did you..." he scrambled to his own feet, almost tripping over his own legs. "Helga, don't you dare touch those books!"

* * *

A/N: Arnold Shortman, cock-blocked by pink poetry books. Hehe :)


	16. Rescue

**Rescue for HigherSilver  
**_Arnold x Helga x Rescue_

* * *

Helga had eyes of icy winter blue, like frozen lakes, dotted with the tiniest shimmering flecks of soft hazel brown. Perhaps, if he had loved those eyes any less, he might have noticed the danger sooner.

If, rather than being enchanted by cascades of golden curls or the movement of her lips, he had entertained the lustful notion of staring directly at the swell of her chest - he might have noticed the faint white scars and fresh red lacerations. If he hadn't trained his eyes to avoid glancing at her hands, for fear of discovering glittering diamond rings, he might have seen the ever-increasing bruises, the purple discoloration of her wrists. If, perchance, he had not adored the curve of her hips, the way her body moved in her jeans, then he may have thought to question her decision to wear them all throughout summer.

Helga had eyes of icy winter blue, like frozen lakes, dotted with the tiniest shimmering flecks of soft hazel brown. But, now they would not open and everything he had missed before, became all he could focus upon.

Now, knelt upon frigid tile floor, he saw the slash of swollen red, sharp penetration against soft pale skin, covering her barely moving chest. Now, he fought against tears, his fingers tracing across divides, the smallest spaces of her delicate hands, not wounded til black and blue. Now her tattered sweatshirt, torn away from lean limbs, revealed the impression of large strong hands against her upper arms. Now, he saw gashes across her stomach, discoloration tracing the line of her jaw, the thinly marked evidence of a knife pressed against her throat. Now he watched, helplessly, the love of his life slip from consciousness, tear-stains on her cheeks and blood in her mouth.

Helga had eyes of icy winter blue, like frozen lakes, dotted with the tiniest shimmering flecks of soft hazel brown. And, maybe if he had not shown up unannounced at her apartment, he'd have never seen them again.

Maybe, if life were at all fair, she would fight like he knew she was capable and not die in his arms tonight. Maybe then he could apologize, and she might forgive him, for failing to notice the signs. Maybe someday, if he could stutter through the right words, summon the courage - he would tell her how irrevocably in love with her he was. Maybe, just maybe, if the ambulance would _please drive faster_, no matter how reckless, and she would _please just keep breathing_, no matter how shallow, then perhaps everything would be okay.

Helga had eyes of icy winter blue, like frozen lakes, dotted with the tiniest shimmering flecks of soft hazel brown. And, if Arnold _ever again_ saw the bastard who made those beautiful eyes cry - he would kill him.

* * *

A/N: Yeah I know Arnold wouldn't kill somebody, but, he's a bit _mad_ at that moment, ok? :\


	17. Hate

**Hate for anonymous**

_Arnold x Helga x Hate_

* * *

**Thirteen Things Helga Pataki ****_Hates_**** About Arnold Shortman. (And the one thing she loves.)**

One. She hates the way he always has to look on the bright side. If there is one thing Helga Pataki is well-versed in, it is the art of disappointment. She is, as a general _realist_, painfully aware that life is unfair. Unlike _Arnold _she does not walk outside after the rain, with the promising hope of the pavement sprouting daisies. She doesn't expect rays of hope to shine down upon her each and every time the sun rises. No, in fact, she is utterly aware of the fact that when it rains, _it pours_, and new days are rarely new beginnings.

Two. She hates his overwhelming need to help _everyone_, but more precisely, she hates it when he attempts to help _her_. For one, she is Helga _Pataki_ and it is well-documented that Pataki's, by force of nature, never need help. Not sometimes, not rarely, not _hardly __ever_ - just, never, never ever. She does not need his philosophic monologues and she does not need his extended hand. Nobody dares knock her down, and nobody need help her up - she simply stands proud on her _own two feet_.

Three. She hates his plaid 'shirt'. Shirt and skirt may _sound_ the same but, as Rhonda would eagerly explain, they are drastically different things. Gerald's jersey is, for example, a _shirt, _as is Harold's grossly outgrown white polo. Arnold's plaid monstrosity is a _skirt._ Unsurprisingly, seeing as skirts are for females, males do not look good in them. If that weren't bad enough, dark plaid red also does not match apple-green eyes. Combine that with sunshine yellow hair, and he makes for a startling impersonation of a backward traffic light.

Four. She hates his batting stance. Nobody requires a balanced center of gravity _that_ outrageously close to ground-level. If he attempted to reduce his proportionate distance to the floor any further, he could perhaps literally become one with home base. She thinks, that considering his already limited height, he might reconsider his strategy of squatting like a praying-mantis every time he faces up to bat.

Five. She hates that his parents loved him. Somehow, she doesn't feel it is entirely fair, knowing that Arnold's parents _adored _him. It may not compensate for their departure, but one year of boundless affection is far more than she has ever received. Perhaps, in fact, she envies the logical assumption that, wherever they are, Arnold's parents probably think of him each and every day. She knows too, that despite having been separated for so long, his parents are probably genuinely _aware_ of his _name and age_. If it were her choice, she'd take missing parents over oblivious parents, any day - maybe, in that regard, their relative misfortunes almost even out.

Six. She hates his spit-ball tolerance. It's increasing. During any average day, it now takes three to four perfectly aimed spit-balls to elicit any form of response. Five to six, directly to the back of the neck, before he might turn his head, allowing her the nonchalant shrug and lowly hissed '_what' _in response. She not only finds it taking a significant toll on her notepaper output, but also her barely existent patience. It is likewise becoming more than acutely obvious, with each passing day, just how pathetic she is becoming.

Seven. She hates his good advice. It is perfectly understandable, really, because it ruins everything. His timely advice solves problems that she would much rather have continued to hack away at with dangerous unfocussed rage and harmful half-formed schemes. All work and no play, gives Helga a morality headache.

Eight. She hates where he lives. She has, in fact, discovered countless reasons for this over the span of her young life. Initially, she understandably lamented the general layout. For example, as a four-year-old she found it absolutely impossible to climb the fire escape. She once disliked the sheer volume of regular residents, until mapping out the ventilation system radically aided that issue. Overall, she mostly hates how warm and comfortable it seems - like _home_.

Nine. She hates the blue hat. It's too small. End of story._  
_

Ten. She hates his football plays. _Statue of liberty, double reverse, flea-flipper, razzle dazzle _is not a legitimate name for any serious combination of passes intended to result in a vital touchdown. In fact, it is not a legitimate name for absolutely _anything. _She begrudgingly admits, internally but _never_ verbally, that in some situations his plays are successful. However, she refuses to spit out nineteen superfluous syllables during a huddle.

Eleven. She hates his pet pig. Yes, she hates Abner and _yes_, of course she means that. She does not appreciate the way he nudges her leg, nor the way he sniffs around her hiding places and she especially detests it when he _steals her locket_.

Twelve. She hates his voice. It is oxymoronically damaging to her general well-being. It is gentle but firm, reprimanding but encouraging and everything else that results in loud palpitations of the chest and confusing, emotional poetry. She cannot stand the way he sounds as though he knows what he is doing, no matter the situation. Although, even worse, she fears the rare moments that he doesn't sound so sure of himself. She detests his tone when it's directed to a sweet, pretty, perfect girl and, whenever it is, she closes her eyes and hopes never to hear him speak like that again.

Thirteen. She hates his eyes. Without a doubt, her least favourite colour is green. Bright, piercing, alluring green like Yahoo jellybeans and white-gold emerald engagement rings in size five, perhaps size six once she is older. She thinks they are also, and she reminds herself often, green like vomit and slime. Slime and vomit. Vomit and slime. Engagement rings and jellybeans. Jellybeans. _Engagement rings_.

Despite this, however, there is one simple thing Helga _loves, cherishes, absolutely adores_, about Arnold. And that is the fact that he is Arnold. Coincidentally, that detail alone renders all of the above null and void. It also means she just lied to you thirteen times.

* * *

A/N: I was actually half-asleep when I thought of this and crawled out of bed to write it sooo, let my dedication be known!

Also: Nep2uune - I want to apologise that I have not yet completed any of your prompts. I feel terrible about it because you're such a dedicated reviewer and one of the first to send in a response for this challenge. Basically, I just want you to know that I'm halfway through both your Anniversary Dinner and Spin The Bottle prompts, I'm just waiting for inspiration to strike to get them finished. Hopefully I'll be able to post one soon!


End file.
